I have seen enough of those videos of gas stations blowing up to know that cell phones and gas do not mix. Before you point out that those videos are likely not real, let me in turn remind you that rational deduction has rarely made an appearance on this blog.
So, of course, one night when I was pretty sure my apartment was quickly filling up with carbon monoxide I was desperately torn between a need to use my cell to call emergency rescue personnel and visions of blowing up my apartment like all those gas stations.
It was 4:00 in the morning and my gas-powered water heater snapped into action. When I say “snapped into action,” it doesn’t fully convey what the water heater powering on sounded like. It actually sounded like a 350 pound linebacker (I think? Is that the position?) lowering his shoulder and running full speed into the thing. You can imagine my alarm when I was awoken out of a deep sleep by such an explosion!
After the explosion, as I will forever continue to call it, I began to smell gas. We all know they infuse that smell into gas so that people can be alerted to its presence. Gas is DEADLY!! Panic set in as I imagined my death by asphyxiation. So, I called the emergency maintenance number. The person who answered said they would call the maintenance guy on call, who would call me to let me know he was on his way. No!! Don’t call me back! That could be disastrous!
Of course fearing the aforementioned fireball my apartment would certainly turn into when the static electricity spark of my cell phone ringing ignited the gas in the air, I had a shining moment of brilliance! If I continuously rubbed myself, my phone and my bed down with dryer sheets, it would eliminate the static!
I. Am. A. Genius!
So that you can truly visualize the scene the maintenance guy—the hero come to rescue me from probable incineration or fatal carbon monoxide poisoning—walked into, I should probably admit that I was wearing red flannel pajamas that had crabs wearing Santa hats all over them with the phrase “Sandy Claws” repeated over and over (and it was nowhere near Christmas). So, there I was sitting in bed, wearing crazy-ridiculous pajamas, dryer sheets in both hands furiously running them all over myself.
The guy looked at me, stifled a laugh, checked the water heater, turned around, looked at me like an idiot and explained that the water heater works much like a gas stove.
“You can smell gas when you turn on a gas stove, can’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Even if there isn’t a gas leak?”
A more sheepish, “Yes.”
“So… I’m going to go.”
“O… K...”
I went out the next day and bought a carbon monoxide detector and slept with the windows open for a month, in the dead of winter, just to be safe.
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